


Dean Is Not Ok

by byitisee



Series: Times When Supernatural Characters Should've Panicked [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Pre-Hell, Protective Sam Winchester, Scared Dean, episode tag s03 finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 05:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12698367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byitisee/pseuds/byitisee
Summary: Adding even more angst to the season 3 finale... TW panic attack





	Dean Is Not Ok

“I don’t care what it takes, Dean. You’re not gonna go to hell. I’m not gonna let you. I swear. Everything’s gonna be ok.” Sam’s face suddenly morphed from caring little brother into something beginning to resemble a hellhound.

 

“Yeah, ok.” Dean resisted the urge to put his head in his hands. While his line of sight no longer included mutilated-face-of-little-brother, he could still see the detailed drawing of hellhounds on the page of lore on the table. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he had closed the book, but it didn’t seem to make a difference; he could see its face just as clearly. Something must’ve been showing on his face, because Sam picked up on it.

 

“You ok?”

 

Dean was nodding before Sam even finished the short question, but firmly kept his gaze away from both book and brother.

 

“No you’re not.” There was no accusation in Sam’s voice, just matter-of-fact. “Another nightmare?”

 

Dean started shaking his head, but he was suddenly in the woods again running from them and he could hear them, but more than that, he could _feel_ them gaining on him and he couldn’t keep running he was so out of breath-”

 

“Dean, breathe. Hey, look at me. Dean. Listen, we still have time. You still have time.” Suddenly noticing the book in front of his brother, he ripped it out from under Dean’s arms that had begun to lean on the table and glared at it before throwing it across the room. If Dean had been more aware of everything going on, he would’ve realized he’d never seen his brother treat a book like that before. Changing tactics, Sam continued, “tell me who you’re talking to.”

 

Dean looked confused, but choked out, “you?”

 

“Be specific, Dean. We start simple.” Sam shifted a bit closer to his shaking brother, but Dean jerked back reflexively. Hands up to show he would give him his space, Sam repeated, “who are you talking to right now?”

 

“Sammy.” It sounded a bit like a plea, but it still answered the question. “Sam-”

 

Forcing his voice to stay calm despite catching the growing desperation in his big brother’s tone, Sam continued, “and what are you doing?”

 

Without the slightest hesitation, Dean responded, “waiting.”

 

Sam froze. “For…?”

 

Dean couldn’t make himself say it, so he pointedly glanced in the general direction of the previously discarded book.

 

Sam tensed. “No.” His tone left no room for argument, and when he received none, he repeated his question again. “What are you doing?”

 

Realization clouding Dean’s face; he gasped, “panicking.”

 

“No. That’s happening to you. What are you _doing_?”

 

“Nothing- I can’t, there’s nothing I can do.”

 

“Not true. Start small, Dean. What are you doing right now?”

 

Dean paused. “Sitting?”

 

“Good. Keep going.”

 

“Talking.”

 

“And what’s happening that you’d like to change?”

 

Dean’s look clearly communicated, “Seriously? Can’t you tell?”

 

“Humor me.”

 

“Don’t- want to die.” He clasped his eyes shut.

 

“And?”

 

“Panicking don’t like panicking.”

 

“I agree. Both good causes. So what are you gonna do?”

 

Dean looked up incredulously.

 

“This time start big. What do we always do?”

 

“Fight. Save people. Hunt things.”

 

“So we’ll fight the panic, save you, and hunt Lilith. Sound like a plan?”

 

Dean ignored the sting of tears in his eyes. “How?”

 

“For starters, we need to get to Bobby’s. We found her, Dean. Let’s go get her.”

 

* * *

 

“You guys wanna save me? Find something else.” Dean sat at the lore-filled table but didn’t bother to act like he was studying. What’s the point?

 

“Where you going, Bobby?” Sam looked neither at his staring-blankly-into-space brother nor at Bobby.

 

“I guess to… find something else.” Dean could hear the frustration in Bobby’s voice, but he didn’t look up.

 

Sam took a deep breath. He kept hearing “waiting” in his big brother’s resigned voice. Sure Dean was scared, but he was certainly resigned to what seemed to him an inescapable fate. Worse, Sam realized, he felt he deserved this.

 

Dean couldn't read his brother. Something was up: something Sam wasn't telling him. Before he could decide what to do about it, he could swear he heard a distant growl. He jumped up. "Did you hear that?"

 

Sam turned, startled. "What?"

 

"Son of a bitch."

 

It sounded like he was in pain, and Sam suddenly realized he sounded like he had when the witch had hexed him. "Dean, what is it? What's wrong?"

 

"Too late, too late," Dean mumbled under his breath.

 

"Dean!" Sam grabbed his brother by both shoulders to get him to focus. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

 

"Get me out of here. I need to get out." He didn't shout. He didn't swear. If he had said anything else in that tone, Sam would've thought he was completely calm.

 

"Why?"

 

"It's too late. I can hear them." His tone was quieter now, and sounded somehow tense.

 

Realization hit Sam like a punch in the stomach. "No, Dean, you're hallucinating. It's not time yet. Nothing's here. You- we still have time. When's the last time you got any sleep?"

 

Dean didn't answer. He could still hear them, and it was somehow worse knowing they weren't real. Not yet. He moved to sit back down, but he missed the chair, and went sprawling onto Bobby's floor, knocking the wind out of him.

 

Now confident in his diagnosis of extreme fatigue in addition to hallucinations, Sam went to help his brother up, but quickly realized something was wrong.

 

Dean had his eyes tightly closed to help him focus only on counting and breathing. When he opened his eyes, Sam was much closer than he remembered, and he didn't look like Sam. He had yellow eyes.

 

The moment of relief at seeing Dean open his eyes fled once he saw the look in them. "Dean? You ok?"

 

Dean closed his eyes again, but this time he couldn't catch his breath.

 

Sam knew he had to get his brother sitting up. Laying down was the worst possible position for him to be in right now. “Dean, I’m just gonna-”

 

“No! Get your hands off me, you son of a bitch!”

 

“Dean! Hey, just- Ow!” In trying to cover his face with his hands, he managed to his little brother is the face with a solid right hook. “Dammit Dean, it’s me. Focus.” He pulled back and assumed a non-threatening posture to emphasize the point.

 

“Sammy?”

 

Sam nodded, and held out a hand to help his brother up. “Dude, what the hell?” He gestured to his already swelling left eye.

 

Dean’s eyes grew wide. “I thought- No, you were- God, Sam, I-”

 

“I know. You good now?”

 

Dean nodded, finally taking Sam’s extended hand.


End file.
